


Some For Better not Forever

by honeybee_motorcyles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, John is Not Okay, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Case Fic, Murder, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock and Victor Trevor-Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee_motorcyles/pseuds/honeybee_motorcyles
Summary: Sherlock left London after what happen at Culverton Smith’s hospital. two and a half years later, Sherlock is happily married to his college sweetheart Victor Trevor; a neuroscientist  in New York, with a seven month old son, Ebenezer Jack Vincent Trevor-Holmes.  In the mean time, a murder was committed in London, which the prime suspect was Sherlock’s best friend, one John Watson.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor
Kudos: 9





	Some For Better not Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my incredible bata, ilikestopwatches who did wonders on this fic. 
> 
> Thank you so much, B.
> 
> I hope you like this and kudos comment. Please. This is my first Viclock story 
> 
> All remaining errors are mine.

***

Victor was coming home from a twelve hour shift at Mount Sinai Hospital. He needed to buy groceries so he stopped by the nearest Target. Sherlock would already be home by now, playing with their son Ebenezer. 

Victor absentmindedly took the formula from the rack while thinking of his relationship with Will. He had loved Will since they were in Cambridge but it wasn’t the time. They had two different trajectories in life and they would be unhappy in London. 

His phone rang; it was Sherlock. Victor answered his phone. “Hello, William.”

“Ebenezer’s hungry, Victor.”

Victor was annoyed. He glared at a rack of sweets. William was aggravating. ‘What was new?’ he asked himself. “Well, give him his formula, Will, I am coming home in.” He checked his watch. “about twenty minutes, okay?”

Victor sighed; Will was still irritating and annoying but he deeply loved him and loved their son. Putting his goods onto the conveyor belt, he paid for them with his credit card. 

When he got home, Sherlock and the nanny were bathing Ebenezer. Sherlock was inside the bathtub fully clothed with their baby. Victor grinned. 

Victor looked at his happy family; he never would have imagined this in the early nineties. He hadn’t expected to have children. Full stop. Yet here he was less than thirty years later with his husband and his son. 

Since reconnecting three years ago, he and Sherlock had found an understanding of how they conducted their life together. They both had wanted children so Victor had asked his sister Diana to be an egg donor. They had hired a surrogate and, nine months later, they had a son: Ebenezer Jack Vincent Trevor-Holmes. At that moment, he was being bathed by his husband. Victor stood, watching the pair of them with love and affection. 

“Will, honey. I’m home,” Victor said, making his presence known. He moved towards the bathtub and kissed him. 

Sherlock grinned and waved his son’s hand to Victor. “Ebenezer, say hi to daddy.” They had decided he would like to be Daddy to their son. 

Victor went to kiss his son’s head. “Hello, buddy, how was your day with Dad?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. It was his day-off and Victor knew that he had a therapy appointment every week on Thursday. “I had spaghetti from the Italian restaurant near the university,” Victor said. 

Sherlock stood up, handed the nanny his son, put on his dressing gown and kissed Victor full on the lips. “Nice to see you home, Victor.” 

They walked towards the living room. Sherlock sighed, turned the television on and sat down on the sofa. Five minutes later, Nina, their nanny, was getting ready to leave.

“I’m going home, Dr. Trevor,” she said and nodded her head in Sherlock’s direction. “Sherlock.” With that she left. 

As Sherlock plated food for the two of them, Victor could see that Sherlock was withdrawn like how he was when they first reconnected. “Will, you okay?” He nodded and sat down. 

Victor knew about the depression brought by his neuroatypicality. As a Neuroscientist and a neurologist he’d known even at university that Sherlock had Autism.

They ate in companionable silence, feeding Ebbie a spaghetti noodle here and there. Tomorrow was Friday and Sherlock had an appointment after his lecture on neuropharmacology with a colleague of Victor’s. Sherlock was participating in a new drug trial designed for anxiety in people on the spectrum.

“How was therapy, Will?” Victor asked. Sherlock knew that if he didn’t tell Victor about his session with Jensen then his partner would call the doctor's office instead.

Sherlock was absentmindedly tapping his left hand fingers on the table. “Will?” Victor said worriedly. 

“I am fine, Victor,” Sherlock said.

He saw as Sherlock stood up to go to the piano and play. He much preferred the violin; however, it was his first instrument. Victor knew that Sherlock only played the piano if he was really upset. 

He fixed Ebbie a bottle and listened to Sherlock; his husband was tapping on the piano, playing Bach’s Fugue in D minor. He was holding the soft pedal. Victor could hear his anger and frustration in his notes.

Three hours later, the music from the outside slowed to a whispered rendition of Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze. After the piece had ended Victor could hear him walk towards Ebbie’s bedroom, and give their son a kiss. 

Victor was already half asleep when he heard Sherlock making his way into their bedroom; he could hear him in the bathroom taking a shower. He pretended to be asleep. When Sherlock got out of the ensuite, he said, “John?” without preamble.

Victor jerked out of bed. He knew the history with John Watson and Sherlock. How John had beaten his Will for just being there, instead of saying a few chosen words, or better yet just walking away. However, he was still Sherlock’s friend and if Sherlock needed to talk about him, so be it. He was secure enough in their relationship not to get jealous. “What has he done now?” 

Sherlock was dressed in pajama bottoms and his old Cambridge athletic t-shirt. He sat gingerly at their bed, hugging Victor from behind. “I was reading the telegraph, the news, and there he was. Killed his girlfriend being held at the Met.”

Victor’s arms came around Sherlock’s body and lovingly placed a kiss onto Sherlock’s lips. “Do you think he did it?”

He could feel Sherlock close his eyes. “I don’t know; I knew John and he wasn’t that guy.”

“People change, Will," Victor said. “The circumstances may have changed him.”

He could feel Sherlock sigh; Victor could see him remembering John beating him after his wife died. “I know that, and according to the reports he became combative.” 

Victor gave him a smile; “If Greg asked you…” He trailed off.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “If…”

Victor nodded. “Okay, let's go to sleep, love.” After a while they arranged themselves in their sleeping positions. Victor spooned Sherlock’s smaller frame. “Good night, Will, I love you so very much.”

———————————————————————————

It was five in the morning. Sherlock woke up to Ebbie crying in the next room. Victor was still asleep next to him. He extracted himself from Victor’s arms and went to his son’s room.

Ebbie was talking in the room; Sherlock picked him up from where he lay. He walked across the room and changed his son’s nappy. 

Sherlock had an eight o’clock class today, intro to chemistry, boring. He was rocking his son back and forth while checking his Facebook account for updates about John. He read through the news last night. Lestrade wasn’t the DI anymore; he had been promoted last summer. 

He sighed, he wasn’t going to get any information by reading the news at least nothing he hadn’t known about. He would call Greg in between classes. 

It was almost six when the door to their bedroom opened. He handed Victor their son. “What time were you awake?” Victor said groggily.

“Five- thirty,” Sherlock shrugged; he got his dressing gown from the room and went to the bathroom. Sherlock took his time in the bathroom and when he got out Victor was briefing Nina about the day’s goings on. 

He sat with Victor who was eating pancakes and drinking coffee, at the small table. Putting pancakes on his plate, Victor said, “What time are you getting out of work?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Four-thirtyish, why?” He sounded distracted even to his ears. “I will meet with Robinson afterwards.”

They finished their meal in companionable silence then the hustle and bustle of their lives started anew. Sherlock left first. He left Victor at home with their son. Taking the subway, Sherlock placed his headphones on his head and Bach’s music played in his ears.  
Sherlock got to his office at New York University. It was already Seven-Thirty. He sat and prepared for his class on Noble Gases while thinking about John Watson. 

His Smart Watch alerted him; it was already eight. Sherlock stood up, got a coffee from the coffee machine near his office and went to his first class of the day. He was roaming around his mind palace while lecturing on Noble gases. 

He had loved chemistry from the moment it was introduced to him by his mother as a child. His mother was a chemistry professor at Oxford University but was now retired.  
After Harrow, he had enrolled at Cambridge; four years later he got his bachelors in organic chemistry, then another two years was his masters in forensic chemistry and after which, another two years he was finishing a doctorate in neurochemistry. He went off on what was interesting to him at the time. 

Victor and his family thought that he would be working for a drug company in America after graduation. Instead, he lived in the streets making street drugs until a young constable Lestrade arrested him. Victor had just broken up with him at the time, finishing his medical training and moving back to the US where he was born. 

After two stints in rehab, Lestrade offered him a deal: to stay clean and to help him with cases, so he did. Sherlock sighed. He had loved his work until the fall. The challenge of cases didn’t appeal afterwards. It became a chore to him, for he always needed to save John, or it felt like it. After the incident at Culverton Smith’s hospital, Sherlock realized that he wanted out of the UK.

A phone call interrupted his class; it was Lestrade. He went outside letting his teaching assistant take over. “Aaron, I need to take this,” he told his TA sotto voce.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s voice sounded tired. “John wanted to explain to you. Donavan was trying to push for an Indictment. Come to London, I understand that you have a new life now.”

“No, Lestrade, I would love to help but I need to speak with my partner first, I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“Okay, okay then.” Lestrade hung up.

Sherlock sunk in the corner of the hallway. He needed to call Victor. He searched for the contact information and pressed call on his touch screen. “Hello, William,” Victor answered after the first ring. 

“I need to help John in London,” Sherlock said as fast as the words could come. “I need to sort something with him.” 

“Could I come with you?” Sherlock could hear the worry in Victor’s voice. 

“What about Ebenezer?” Sherlock asked, but he was grateful for Victor’s reticence to come with him.

“We’ll just take him,” Victor suggested. “He needs to see where his Daddy was born.”

“I would callt Jackson,” Sherlock said, as soon as he was hanging up he remembered to ask to make sure his deductions were right, “Where are you; you still at home?”

Victor chuckled. “I am still here, packing now for a week. I’ll call Chase’s office. I told him I have a family emergency.” 

“Good and Vic, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Victor said and Sherlock hung up his phone. 

Sherlock texted Aaron his TA. ‘I am going to be back next Monday, SH.’ Sherlock left the building. He rode the subway back home to their house thinking of his best friend.

Sherlock entered their townhouse wherein Victor and Ebenezer were already packed. “There’s a ten o’clock flight out of JFK international, and it’s already nine o’clock, Will, are we taking it?” Sherlock just nodded. 

They left the house and hailed a taxi outside. Ebbie was sleeping in his baby carrier. Both Sherlock and Victor hoped that Ebbie would sleep at least half of the flight.

——————————————————

Victor was sitting at the airport waiting area while Sherlock was pacing. Victor sighed; he had Ebenezer in his arms. He knew as a doctor that Sherlock was having a hard time and was staving off a meltdown. “William? Are you okay?” he asked.

Sherlock kept muttering on until a man bumped him and all hell broke loose. The man was cross. ”Your wife is cheating on you, and you know it,” Sherlock blurted out, crossing his arms.

The punch came just after Sherlock’s deductions. They had been in the same scenario countless times wherein Sherlock wouldn’t apologize, because he genuinely didn’t understand social situations. 

Luckily for them, their flight number was called. Sherlock followed Victor who was carrying their son. Victor gave Sherlock Ativan for his anxiety while taking off. He held Sherlock’s hand. 

The flight was comfortable, the incident of earlier forgotten. Sherlock and Ebbie slept. Victor just watched over his family from the corner of his eye while working on paperwork. Sherlock was such a light sleeper.

They landed at Heathrow International airport at ten local time. They hired a car and went straight to Baker Street. Sherlock hadn’t been there since getting married to Victor. 

There, at Baker Street, Sherlock knocked at the downstairs apartment. After three knocks, Mrs Hudson opened the door. “Sherlock! Thank goodness, John is in deep trouble,” she trailed off when she saw Victor enter with Ebbie on his car seat. 

Sherlock smiled at her. “Hi, Mrs. Hudson. This is Victor, my husband, and Ebenezer, our son.” 

Mrs Hudson gaped at both Victor and Ebbie. “You did well, Sherlock Holmes, wow. He looks good.” She gave Victor a once over. Victor smiled at her.

“We need to get Ebenezer to sleep, Mrs. Hudson, I’ll see you later.” They walked the seventeen steps up. 

The flat was well looked after. Victor sat on the sofa; he removed Ebbie’s jacket and let his son crawl. Sherlock came from his former room. “We could sleep here. I still have Rosie’s old playpen.

Victor joined Sherlock in the room. They made their beds in Sherlock’s old room. He laid Ebbie down. Victor joined Sherlock in bed. “Good night, Will,” he said, giving Sherlock a kiss. Sherlock fell back to sleep instantly while Victor didn’t get an inch of sleep.

The next morning Victor woke up with Sherlock and Ebbie still asleep. He smiled; he rarely saw his husband so relaxed in sleep. He took his phone from the bag beside him and he turned on to the hospital servers. 

Sherlock and Ebbie started to wake. Victor smiled at his husband and gave him a peck on the lips. Sherlock checked his text messaging app and groaned into Victor’s arm.

“What time is it?” 

“Eight-thirty.” Victor gave Sherlock’s arm a tug. “Why?”

Sherlock sighed. “I have to see Lestrade today.” He stood up and hesitated on the door. “Come with me?”

“What about…” He pointedly looked at Ebbie who was playing with his toy computer.

Sherlock picked him up. “Do you want to see uncle Greg?” Ebbie bubbled at him.

Victor stared at him. “God, William, you are not telling me you’re taking our son to the station.”

“Oh, no, no,” Sherlock said and got up with their son. “We are going to his house.”

—————————————-

Sherlock sat in the cab with his family in London’s streets. He hadn’t been in the United Kingdom in ages; in fact, he hadn’t been since Mycroft was killed a year ago. ; He had found himself missing London. 

Twenty minutes later, they were at Lestrade’s house in the London suburbs; he had bought the house with Molly two years ago. He rang Lestrade’s phone the moment they got out of the cab. 

Lestrade was standing on his porch waiting for him. As soon as he was in Lestrade’s line of sight, Lestrade came over and hugged him. He didn’t even notice Victor and Ebbie who were standing to Sherlock’s left. “Sherlock, John is in deep trouble. He was moved to a minimum security prison last night.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. He looked at Victor; Lestrade followed his gaze to his husband. “Director Lestrade, meet my husband Dr. Victor J. Trevor and our son Ebenezer.” 

Lestrade blinked at him. He greeted Victor with a handshake and cooed at Ebbie just like Mrs Hudson had. Afterwards Greg led them inside his house. Molly was waiting for him. They sat in the living room. He, Victor and Greg talked while Molly entertained Ebbie. 

“Okay, Greg, tell me everything.” 

Greg sighed and took a deep breath. “There was a call from John’s apartment at approximately midnight on the Tuesday.” 

“I was working at that time,” Sherlock said absentmindedly. “Greg, who was calling.” 

“John—, I have a copy of the transcript.” 

“Show me,” Sherlock said, looking at Victor and communicating with him without words. ‘Will be done here in a minute.’ Victor nodded. 

Lestrade stood up and got the papers from his briefcase. “Here, Sherlock.”

“Could I take this home?” Sherlock stood up. Lestrade nodded. Sherlock beckoned Victor to stand; Molly handed Ebbie to Victor. “By the way we’re at 221B Baker Street.”

“Which day are you leaving?”

“Next Saturday. Could you arrange for me to see John, Greg?”

“Why?”

“I want to see him.” 

“Okay,” Lestrade said as he led Victor, Ebbie and Sherlock outside. “It’s nice to see you, Sherlock, Victor.” He cooed to Ebbie.

“Same here, Greg,” Sherlock said as Victor hailed a cab.

A couple of minutes later, Sherlock was at 221B’s living room listening to John’s 999 call while Victor rocked their son for his nap. 

“999. What’s your emergency?”

John’s voice was distressed. “My girlfriend has been murdered. My daughter is fine. I just left the flat. When I returned she was facedown on our floor… covered in blood.”

Sherlock stood up abruptly. “Victor?“

“Yeah?”

“Stay here, I am going to John’s apartment.” Sherlock was by the door when Victor called. 

“Will?” 

“Yes.”

“I am coming with you!”

Sherlock sighed; he knew that arguing with Victor was feutle. He nodded his head. “I’ll ask Mrs Hudson to watch over Ebbie.”

Sherlock went to Mrs Hudson’s flat. She answered at the first knock. “Can you watch Ebbie for us, Mrs Hudson?” he asked without preamble. “We will just be going to John’s flat.”  
She shrugged. “Better than watching telly. Where is he?”  
“He’s upstairs. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“It’s okay, Sherlock; it’s my pleasure.” Mrs Hudson followed him into Apartment B. They left after ensuring that Ebenezer was okay. They walked from Baker Street to a nice apartment complex. He was thinking about his best friend and the last time they had spoken. 

They had spoken a lot on the phone or on Facebook from time to time; John and Rosie had been to New York. He went to their wedding. He hadn’t known the girlfriend though. They had been together six months according to John’s facebook page. 

Sherlock and Victor entered John’s apartment with the key that he had been given by Greg, as per Victor’s request. When they entered the flat, it was already process , all as well. “John claimed that he came home to his girlfriend face down on the carpet,” Victor said.

Sherlock knelt down. “They were arguing before she died.”

Victor grinned. “John sounded guilty on the phone.” 

Sherlock was quick to defend John. “We don’t know that! How did the girl die?” 

Victor, who knew about his autism, was struck by how much Sherlock did not understand sarcasm. “That was a joke, Will,” he said. 

Sherlock sighed. “I know, just tired.” He sniffed the floor. 

“Okay, I understand,” Victor sighed. “Are you sure?”

Sherlock knew that his husband only wanted to check on him. “I want to talk to John.”

“Why?” Victor asked; he had met John in America, of course. but never pegged him as a murderer. However, Victor had noticed something.

“I know now that Michelle did by John’s jealous lover,” Sherlock said, standing up. 

They left the house after a while. 

——————————————————-

Victor Trevor wasn’t a jealous man; he was very confident with his relationship with Will. However at this moment William was muttering about his best friend on the way home.

They stopped by a Japanese restaurant. Sherlock was still stimming, flopping his hand against his chest like a gorilla. “Are you alright, Will?” People were staring at him.

‘What if I…. he….?” Sherlock said. The fractured speech was telling of his emotional state. “I… think Mary is still alive. I don’t know… yet but John… the bullet trajectory is all wrong.” 

Victor sighed; he looked at the restaurant behind him. “That’s a stretch, William.”

William sighed and laced his hand in Victor’s. He smiled. “I know but picture it; Mary Watson or whoever she is died in July 2016. She might have faked her death. You and Ebbie are in trouble. I need to see Lestrade; that woman has been out to get me ever since Moriarty died.” 

“Eat first, love,” Victor said as William sat back down.

They ordered Katzu and sushi. Victor watched William from the corner of his eye while they ate. 

After eating it was time to collect their son from 221 Baker Street. They took a cab from the restaurant to the house. Victor watched as Sherlock looked at London's busy streets.

As soon as they were at Baker Street, William left and instructed them to close the window. 

————————————————-

Sherlock left his family at 221 to go to Lestrade’s house. He was worried for Victor and Ebbie’s fate; however he needed to talk with Greg. He called an Uber. The Uber came after a couple of minutes and he climbed in. He had texted Greg while he and Victor were talking at the restaurant. 

As soon as he saw Greg Lestrade at the entrance to his suburban house, he said, “John Watson, didn’t kill his girlfriend. DI Donavan got this wrong.” 

“I know, Sherlock,” Greg simply said as he ushered him into the house. 

“What do you mean you know?” Sherlock asked. 

They sat in the living room and Molly brought them tea. “You know, I have over 20 years of experience. I may not be as smart as you, Sherlock, but I can look at the evidence and see the trajectory of the bullet.” He sighed. “I mean the bullet isn’t from a handgun.” 

“I think it’s Mary, Greg,” Sherlock said.

Greg looked sick.

Sherlock continued. “I will be visiting John tomorrow in jail. I hope to gather more information.” 

Sherlock took a sip of his tea when Greg said, “I put Sally on suspension for what it’s worth.”

Sherlock almost choked on his tea; he smiled. “I never would have thought you could do that.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I congratulate you.” He was laughing now. It felt good to laugh.

Greg was smiling, too. Sherlock rarely praised even if he sounded sarcastic. His phone rang; it was Victor. “William? Come home.” Victor sounded worried.

Sherlock looked at Greg uneasily. “I need your help; come with me.” 

They both stood up. Lestrade let Molly know that he would be out with Sherlock. They sat in the cab in worried silence. “John has nothing to do with the murder; let him out.” 

“Of course,” Greg said; he tapped at his phone for a bit then looked at Sherlock with fond amusement. “He will be out in the morning.”

“Thank you, Greg,” Sherlock said.

After the short drive from Greg’s place to Baker Street, Sherlock noticed something was off. They went inside Speedy’s to the back room. Sherlock saw Victor holding Ebbie who was crying and Mrs Hudson clutching her purse. “What happened?” Sherlock asked.

Victor looked at him with tears in his eyes and explained. “I heard shots; I just got Ebbie and ran. I went to Mrs Hudson to check on her. Luckily, Mrs Hudson had a back door to Speedy’s.” Victor was crying. “I was so scared, Will. I was really scared.”

Sherlock crossed the gap between them and enveloped his husband and son in a hug. He said into Victor’s ear, “Shh… Shh… It's okay, love, you’re safe now.”

Lestrade interrupted them, “Okay, lads,” Lestrade said. “You need to come with me; I need to put you in a safe house.”

Sherlock, Victor, Ebbie and Mrs Hudson left Speedy’s in a hurry. Two hours later, they were in a safe house in the country. “I will get John and Harriet and Rosie,” said Greg in parting.

—————————————————————————-

John Watson sat inside the holding cell at New Scotland Yard wherein he was staying indefinitely. If his best friend didn’t solve his case, he would be in prison for the rest of his life. John sat on the small cot. 

He and Sherlock had reconciled after his wife died. He had told Sherlock that he wasn’t gay, when Sherlock had kissed him one summer’s night. Sherlock, disappointed, looked for somebody else.

He noticed that Sherlock and Victor reconnected. At first, like Mycroft, he was sceptical about Victor’s intention with Sherlock, but Victor had proven himself to be good for his best friend. 

After Mycroft died, Sherlock moved to New York with Victor and they got together in New York. Sherlock would pay for their tickets just to hang out with him. He was Sherlock’s best man at his wedding and when their son Ebenezer was born, the first call Sherlock made was to him. 

He had last seen Sherlock about six months earlier. He and Rosie had gone to New York for a month after Ebbie was born but before he and Michelle had got together.

Michele, John thought. They were fighting before she died; that was why he was a suspect. He understood that; however what he couldn’t understand was that after he was interrogated and Donavan had processed the crime scene, he was still put in jail.

He loved Michelle and was in love with her. It was devastating that not only had she died but he was being pinned for her murder. He knew that Sherlock and Victor had come to his rescue. He just hoped that his best friend could get him out of this hellhole.

The day turned to night; John sat at his cell with his head held down until a guard popped his head in. “John Watson, you’re out. Get your things on your way out.”

The man who was sitting in the same cell as him gave him a thumbs up. “Good luck, Dr. Watson.” Then he was out. Greg was waiting for him; he was angry. Greg had just got promoted and John thought he would help him. Instead Greg turned the other cheek. 

“Why are you here, Greg?” John said, angrily.

Greg looked at him. “Sherlock sent me to retrieve you.”

John sighed; he stayed rooted in place. “Now, you are going to help me. I didn’t kill Nina; I love her!”

Greg was dragging him bodily outside the station and hissed in his ear, “I am sorry, John, but your life is in danger. I have Harriet and Rosie in a safe house.”

“What?” John exclaimed as they moved to the car. 

“Sherlock and Victor are in London; Sherlock figured out that Mary is alive.”

“What?” John said again and stopped dead in his tracks. “Mary is alive?”

“Yes,” Greg said, dragging him inside the car. “The worst part is that she shot at 221 Baker Street. She knew that they were there.”

John froze next to Greg’s car door. He was silently looking at his shoes. He sat in the unmarked police car in complete silence. At one point during their journey, they had to take a break to change cars. He remained silent during that drive. He wanted to see his sister, daughter, and Sherlock.

“Is Mrs Hudson okay?” John asked as they were getting closer.

Greg turned a corner. “Yes, Victor and Ebenezer are safe, too.” 

After two hours of driving and transferring vehicles, they arrived at a discreet house with short grass and rose bushes. “They aren’t here.”

“Yes, they are.” Greg took out his phone; he called Sherlock. Sherlock answered him on the first ring. “We’re here.” Sherlock came out of the blackened house. 

“Why is it dark?”

“It's a safe house, John,” Greg said.

The door opened; it was Sherlock. He looked good. He was wearing suit trousers and a jumper. His son was in his arms. Sherlock eyed John and held out the arm that wasn’t holding Ebbie. “John? How are you? I am so very sorry about Michelle.”

John wanted to cry. Sherlock handed Ebenezer to Greg and hugged his best friend. John started to whimper. “I love her, Sherlock. I love her.” He started to cry.

“I know,” Sherlock said. “God, John, if I could give her back, I would.”

“I know, and this sucks,” John said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “And Mary?”

“Let's go back inside the house, first,” Sherlock said; John and Greg followed Sherlock inside. 

Victor saw John first and gave him a warm hug. “My condolences. I am sorry, John.”

“Thank you, Victor,” John said; the smile was genuine.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked, searching for his sister. Harry came out from the kitchen; John practically ran to her. Harry gave John a big hug.

“I am sorry, John. I liked her too. She was good for you.” The two had repaired their relationship after Mycroft’s death. John had called his sister and they had just talked after they had reconnected.

Where’s Rosie? John thought. Then his little girl came out of one of the rooms. She ran towards John with Mrs Hudson following her. He lifted her up and kissed his daughter’s cheeks. “I missed you, Rosie.” 

“Oh, John,” Mrs Hudson said. He came up and hugged her too.

Sherlock cleared his throat and everyone halted. “John, Gavin and I need to talk.” Everyone but one laughed, for old times sake.

Greg glowered at Sherlock. “Oi, Sherlock, it's Greg.”

The feeling that went through John Watson at that moment was one of overwhelming happiness and a sense of belonging with the people who loved him and who he, in turn, loved.

Epilogue:

New York City, 5 weeks later

Sherlock was waiting for John and Rosie at the airport. They were moving to America, for a new start, after the discovery of the web of lies the woman they knew as Mary Morstan had led them to believe.

Mary Morstan, also known as Penelope Lane, worked as a CIA operative. Sherlock had called the CIA (using Anthia’s clearance). She was kicked out of the CIA for insubordination. However, that hadn’t stopped her from being the world class assassin that she was.

She had met Jim Moriarty after the CIA firing and they were instant cohorts. While Sherlock was on hiatus, she had been hiding with John. Sherlock and Mycroft had no idea about her existence. 

The day she shot him after she and John got back from their honeymoon, Sherlock knew that she had worked for Moriarty. 

After that fake shooting, they had found out a lot of things about her. When she shot Nina, John’s girlfriend, Sherlock, after two week of looking for her in London, found her full name, where she was from, (Virginia near the US capital) the fact that she came from poverty and that she had lost her father and mother in a house fire when she was seven years old.

Most importantly, they learnt that she was a narcissist and a psychopath. 

They chased her around London to a farmhouse in Norfolk; she shot at Sherlock, nicking his arm. Victor didn’t speak to him back home.

Today, his best friend, John, was moving to New York. They had talked before about John moving to America. 

Sherlock saw John at Baggage. Sherlock approached him and gave him a hug and his Rosie a kiss.

Sherlock was happy to see John in New York; he had just gained a brother.

The End.


End file.
